


Hour of the Wolf

by snowsnake



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: BAMF Arya Stark, BAMF Sansa Stark, F/M, Joffrey Baratheon is His Own Warning, Jon Snow and Robb Stark are Best Friends, Jon Snow is Not Called Aegon, Lady (ASoIaF) Lives, Not Canon Compliant, Physical Abuse, Protective Jon Snow, Protective Robb Stark, Robb Stark is King in the North, Stark-centric (ASoIaF), Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Warg Arya Stark, Warg Sansa Stark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2020-05-14 16:52:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19277467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowsnake/pseuds/snowsnake
Summary: Jon knows the men of the Night's Watch may be his brothers by oath, but Robb is his brother by blood. With father dead and Sansa and Arya trapped in King's Landing, he cannot sit idly by at the wall and abandon them.Robb knows he can't marry one of the Frey's. This is just a small stepping stone on the path of getting his sisters back, and he'll need more allies later if he is to win this war. Instead, he offers Bran, his brother and heir should he die in battle. Turns out a Prince will work just as well as a King.Sansa knows she cannot possibly stay in King's Landing. They cut her fathers head off and, when she begged to take her supper in her rooms, Joffrey brought it to her on a plate. She waits until night and, with the help of a now very large direwolf, escapes before the Lannisters know she's gone.





	1. Robb I

**ROBB I**

"Have my horse saddled and ready." Robb motioned to one of the squires.

"And you'll go into the Twins alone?" Greatjon Umber looked at him as though he were mad, "He'll sell you to the Lannisters as he likes!"

"Or throw you in the dungeons." Theon raised an eyebrow, grip not loosening from his bow as the Frey riders drew closer, "Or slit your throat."

"My father would do whatever it took to secure our crossing." Robb clenched his jaw slightly, imagining his father in the dungeons of that damned southern castle, "If I'm going to lead this army, I can't allow other men to do my bargaining for me."

His mother was quiet for a moment before she gave a small nod of her head, "I agree...I'll go."

Ser Rodrick and Lord Greatjon both protest at the same time, and he saw Theon's eyes widen. His mother began to speak over them when he held up and hand, shaking his head, "No. I'm acting as Lord in father's place. I will go."

"Robb, putting yourself into pointless danger will help no one." His mother's voice was hushed as she pulled him back away from the small group, "Let me go. I've know Lord Frey since I was a girl, he wouldn't hurt me."

"Mother, I have to. Would my father rely on others to do the work for him?" Robb shook his head slightly, "It has to be me."

"Then let me come." Her grip tightened on his arm, "And bring someone else as a guard, someone you trust. If you're going to do this, do  _not_ do it alone."

Robb nodded and waved the squire from earlier over, "Saddle three horses for my mother, Theon, and I."

The boy bowed slightly, "Yes, my Lord."

"Theon?" She hisses at him, "That's not what I-"

He knew plenty of her distrust for Theon. Something about Greyjoys being untrustworthy, keen for betrayal. He bypassed her and clapped Theon on the shoulder when his friend turned to give him a surprised look. 

"If I'm going I need a guard, it'd better be you." He gave the other a wry smile, "Be sure to aim for their necks."

Theon grinned, pulling an arrow from the quiver strapped to his back and twirling in between his fingers with ease, "Oh, don't you worry."

* * *

Robb literally could not have imagined how decrepit Walder Frey looked. He pictured an old man, of course, but the Lord before him looked far too old to have such a young wife. Of course, Robb only knew that was his wife because Lord Frey had been groping her from the moment she came over to pour him wine. Robb had a realization and felt sick to his stomach. He sent a silent prayer to the Old Gods that she was his wife, else she was some poor serving girl being dishonored before their eyes.

"What do you want?" He croaked out, taking a swig from his goblet.

"It is a great pleasure to see you after so many years, my Lord." His mother took a step forward and smiled politely.

"Oh spare me pleasantries. So your boy had the balls to face me after all?" Walder looked straight at him, "Now, what am I supposed to do with any of you?"

"F-father, you forget yourself." An older looking man leaned closer to Frey from one of the high tables on either side of the room, "Lady Stark and her son-"

"Who asked you?" Frey grouched back at him, "You're not Lord Frey yet. Not until I die. Do I look dead to you?"

So a son. The fact that one of Frey's  _sons_ looked as old as his father was...impressive.

"Father, please-!" Another man burst out.

"I need lessons in courtesy from you, bastard?" Walder Frey snapped, "Your mother would still be a milkmaid if I hadn't squirted you into her belly!"

It was dead silent and Robb could practically  _sense_ Theon biting his lip so hard it bled to keep himself from laughing. His mother shared a glance with him, her expression telling him all he needed to know. She was quite uncomfortable in the spotlight, so Robb stepped up so he was a few inches in front of her.

"Lord Frey." Robb spoke up, the man's beady eyes darting to him, "Is there someplace we could talk?"

The lord blinked, "We're talking right now."

This time Theon let out a strangled noise as if he were being smothered, and Robb quite wanted to bash his head against those nice stone walls.

"I meant in private." Robb ground out, pursing his lips.

"Fine." The man heaved a sigh, "Out! All of you!"

The people at the high tables stood and filed out quickly until only the woman who'd been serving his wine remained at his side. He drew his hand back and gave her a sharp smack on her...bottom. Robb blinked, partially in shock and partially in offense.

"You too, get out." Frey grunted.

The woman scurried off without another word. Robb  _sincerely_ hoped that was his wife.

"You see her?" The old man stood, licking his lips, "15 she is, a little flower...and the honey's all mine."

Theon choked. Robb blinked. 

His mother grimaced, "I'm sure she will give you...many sons."

"Heh." Frey teetered over to the fire, "Your father didn't come to the wedding."

"He is quite ill, my Lord." She responded as they all followed him over.

"Didn't come to the last one either. Or the one before that. Your family's always pissed on me."

"Lord Frey." Robb spoke over what the old man was beginning to say, "We have not come to discuss any perceived slights my mother's Lord father might have bestowed on you."

"Eh, the little lordling, huh? Playing at war while your father is away?" The man sneered at him.

Anger lit up in his chest, but Robb merely took a breath, "Lord Frey, we have come to seek passage across the Twins."

"Well, of course, you have. Why else would you be here? I'm not a damn fool, boy!" Walder turned around, looking him up and down, "I'll have conditions."

"Name them." Robb spoke coldly.

"My son, Olyvar, he'll be your squire."

"Done."

The old man raised his eyebrow as if he didn't believe it'd be that easy, "My other son, Waldron, he's got to marry one of your sisters."

A sneer curled his lip. So far Robb has seen how Frey men treat their women, "Absolutely not."

"Excuse me?" Lord Frey turned to face him fully, brows furrowing in anger, "You come in here and demand things of me in my own home-!"

"You're the one demanding." Robb tilted his chin up, looking down on the old man, "I'll take Olyvar as a squire. Any other  _reasonable_ demands?"

"Marry one of my daughters."

He could see his mother tense out of the corner of his eye. Robb almost laughed. Walder Frey is just a small stepping stone on the path of getting his sisters back, and he'll need more allies later if he is to win this war. He cannot give up his chance for a truly advantageous marriage now, and with one of the  _Frey_ daughters to boot.

"Declined." Robb said simply, "I said reasonable."

"Listen here." Lord Frey bit out, "If you're going to pass, I'm marrying one of these shits off to you! They're piling up, I have sons  _and_ daughters to get rid of! I have several that might meet your tastes, too. Roslin, a pretty young thing, only seventeen. Best of the brood!"

Robb sent silent apologies to Bran, but he knew his brother could handle a meek wife better than his sisters could an abusive husband.

"I'll tell you what." Robb sighed slightly, pretending to think, "I'll agree to a marriage between Roslin and my brother, Bran."

"The cripple?" The man yelled, spittle flying, "You'd insult me and mine-!"

"My  _brother_ is next in line after me to become Lord of Winterfell." Robb's voice was dangerously quiet, "If you're attempting to broker marriage proposals, don't insult my family."

At the reminder of potential inheritance, the man calmed slightly, "Fine, fine. Marry her to the cripple. What else? If I'm committing treason by letting you through, you have to make it worthwhile, boy."

"Potential intermarrying between sworn vassal houses and your own." Robb crossed his arms, "I'll put in a good word for your sons and daughters. It's all I'll offer."

"The Boltons?"

"Should they agree." Robb tries to think of Ramsey marrying any of his lot to one of the Freys and holds back a chuckle, "Do you accept?"

"You swear by this deal?" Walder eyes him suspiciously, "You'll have your brother marry Roslin and set my other children up for rich marriages?"

"I am the son of Eddard Stark. I would never dishonor him by betraying a sworn agreement."

The Frey grumbled but then clasped hands with Robb. His mother almost looked impressed as they exited the Towers, Theon keeping a careful eye behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made some aesthetic for the main couples so if you wanna check those out, my tumblr is snowsnaking because snowsnake was taken forever ago when I signed up. Enjoy!


	2. Sansa I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Sansa is beaten in this chapter and there are threats of non-con/rape. Nothing too graphic, but everyone has different thresholds. Tags have been updated accordingly.

**SANSA I**

The images that flashed behind her eyelids as she came to were horrible and bloody. Her father's head...rolling on the ground. The last thing she saw before she fainted was his limp body, the bloody stump of his neck. The lifeless eyes, staring back at her. She didn't want to wake, keeping her eyes closed as she tried to blackout the world, a feeble attempt to keep reality from setting in. She couldn't. The surface beneath her was cold and hard, and her neck ached horribly. Her cheeks were wet with tears; she'd been crying in her sleep. Her eyes opened to the familiar ceiling of the Red Keep. This room, however, was not hers. She sat up slowly, her stomach rolling as the memory of her father's head being cut off played and replayed in her head. 

She felt lightheaded, but crawled to her knees and used the support of the bed to help her stand. It was smaller as well, and she realized no sunlight filtered through the room as there were no windows. It was a bedroom, but Sansa recognized it for what it truly was. A cell. 

The door swung open. The Queen regent entered, followed by four Lannister guards. Sansa's legs gave way, her palms smacking against the stone floor hard, her breath heaving. She's to die, too, then. Her thoughts wandered to her sister. Was Arya already dead? Did they hold her captive as well? She hadn't seen her little sister in days, and hopefully, it stays that way. She didn't want to watch her die, too.

Cersei waved a hand at one of the guards. Cold metal gripped her by both her arms, the Lannister guard grunting as he pulled her to her feet. He shoved her directly in front of the Queen, Cersei regarding her with concern.

"Gentle now." Cersei waved him off, stepping forward to stoke a hand down her cheek, "Not to worry, little dove. You won't die today. You're to marry Joffrey, be his queen."

"I..." Sansa bit back words of scorn, "I am not worthy of the honor, Your Grace."

"Of course you aren't." Cersei snapped, dropping her hand, green eyes turned cold, "Now, have you seen your sister? We're looking for her, to make certain she's safe."

More like to be certain she's dead. Sansa didn't believe a word that came out of the woman's mouth. They had promised her mercy and given her blood, promised her safety and shoved a dagger in her back. 

"I have not seen her, Your Grace."

The Queen turned to a red cloak and nodded. The same one that had grabbed her before takes both her arms in a bruising grip, forcing her to her knees. Tears dripped from her eyes as she stared at the ground, "Please, Your Grace, I don't know, I don't know! I haven't seen her in days, not since our father was arrested!"

"Father?" She looked up to see Cersei raise a delicate brow, "You would claim the traitor as your family?"

Fear spiked through her heart as well as anger, "N-no, Your Grace, I'm sorry. It was a slip of tongue, nothing more, I'm sorry-!"

"Let her go."

The hands released her and she sagged to the ground, her forehead resting against the floor below her. 

"You will join Joffrey for supper. He is...eager to see you." Cersei began to turn, gown sweeping the floor as she did.

Sansa jerked up, terror in the very core of her, "Your Grace, I-I have fallen ill. My stomach has been turning and I-I wouldn't want to make the King ill."

The Queen frowned, "I'll notify him. He _will_ be displeased."

Her breath choked in her throat, but they had finally left. She sat in silence for a long time. No handmaidens entered and attended her as usual, all she heard were the occasional steps of the guard rotating outside her door. She prayed to the Maiden, to the Mother, to all of the Seven. She just wanted to be left alone. Well, no, that wasn't true. She wished Lady were here. Chained in the kennels, alone and in the dark, just like Sansa. Or she was dead, her head cut off just like they'd done to her father. She even wished for Jeyne, another now-fatherless girl, someone to weep with her over fates and what was to come.

Jeyne...she hadn't seen her since that fateful day when her father was arrested and his men slaughtered. She'd probably been killed as well, just as Septa Mordane had. It made her heart ache at the thought of never seeing her best friend again, never sneaking into the kitchens of Winterfell to beg for lemon cakes from the cook again, never practicing their needlework until their fingertips bled again. She was gone, just like that, out of Sansa's life.

"My Lady!" The door opened once more some time later, smacking the wall with the amount of force used, and her blood turned to ice, "I come bearing you a gift! Mother said you were ill!"

Sansa leaped off the floor, taking several steps back. Joffrey looked around the room in disgust, a covered silver platter in his hands, "I'll have a word to Mother about your lodgings. You'll receive your own room back soon. Or, perhaps, I'll have you moved into the royal wing. I'll see you more often there. No future Queen should live in squalor such as this."

"Yes, Your Grace. Thank you, Your Grace." Sansa bowed her head, chin nearly touching her chest. Secretly, she prayed he would just move her back to the Tower of the Hand, even if her father was dead and no longer resided there. It made her ill to think of seeing Joffrey before she slept.

Red cloaks and one Kingsguard filed in behind him, the Hound coming in last and closing the door of the small room.

Joffrey frowned, the glanced down at his hands and his expression brightened, "Please, sit. I've brought us supper. I'd like to dine with my wife-to-be."

She obediently sat at the small table, Joffrey taking the other chair and setting the platter down between them. A guard came behind her and held her chair in place. She could feel her face pale, and she stared at the King in terror. 

"No need for fear, my Lady." Joffrey looked concerned, reaching forward to grip her hand tightly, "It's only supper. He's just here to catch you if you faint again."

His grin turned violent and he lifted the silver lid from the platter. Her father's head stared back at her, eyes white and filmed over, mouth open in death. Sansa screamed, trying to push her chair back, trying to stand, but the guard kept her in place by clamping his hands on her shoulders.

"You don't like your gift?" Joffrey snapped, "How ungrateful. Ser Meryn, teach her some manners." 

Ser Meryn Trant looked her in the eye and slapped her twice in the face, open-palmed and then backhanded. Her lip was busted, she could feel the blood run down her chin but was numb to the pain. Numb to everything but her father's head, staring back at her.

"Now, look at it." Joffrey's nails dug into the skin of her hand, breaking it and making blood pool in the cuts, "Look at it!"

Ser Meryn grabbed her by the chin, forcing her head forward. She would have bruises on her shoulders and her face by the end of the night. Cuts on her hand and her lip. She turned her eyes to the head and held back a whimper, silently begging the Mother for mercy. She had none to offer, apparently, as Joffrey brought out a knife. Ser Meryn let go of her face and grabbed her shoulders once more.

"Would you like some? Here, I'll cut you a piece." He sneered at her.

She shook her head as well as she could, frantic and doing more harm than good, "No, no, please, Your Grace. I'm very ill, I...I-!"

"Fine. Leave it here." He smiled, a small and cruel, "Know that _this_ is what happens to traitors. When I catch your pitiful brother, I'll cut off his head and give it to you as well!"

Robb. No, not Robb, never Robb. Anger gripped her, a cool fire lit beneath her, and she'd never hated someone so much in all her life, "Or maybe he'll give me yours."

Joffrey froze from where he watched her, mouth twisting in fury before his expression cleared, became one of sadistic satisfaction, "A King should never hit his Lady, you know. That's why I had Ser Meryn teach you your manners earlier, and why he will continue to do so. Ser Meryn, leave the rest of her face. I do like her pretty."

The Kingsguard, who still had a grip of her shoulders, threw her to the floor off the chair and tore her gown open. She screamed, "No, Your Grace, please!"

"Traitors blood...Pycelle was right earlier, you know. He warned me about you, told me to break our betrothal and my oath to you. Should I, Lady Sansa? Should I do it right here, before all these men, and leave? Let them have you in whatever way they like?"

"No, Your Grace, I'm sorry! I'll never say such things again, I'm sorry, I condemn my traitorous family, I do not claim them, he is no brother of mine!"

Ser Meryn raised his foot and kicked her sharply in the side. She choked on a sob, tears filling her eyes, and she barely saw Joffrey raise his hand, "I'll give you one more chance, Lady Sansa. If you prove me too merciful, I may have your head decorating my walls as well. May this serve as a reminder."

She sobbed as they left, pulling her ripped dress back together the best she could. She pulled a blanket from the bed and draped it around her shoulders, the red of it bright against her light blue gown. She sat on the bed for what felt like hours, not looking at anything but the door. The metallic stench of blood filled the air, both her own and her fathers, though perhaps it was more the stench of death and decay than anything. The guards rotated outside her door, the times growing longer. It must be past midnight, in the early morning hours. The guards were slower then, lazy and tired.

She counted the seconds between each one. Between forty-nine and fifty-eight was how long it took for a new guard's footsteps to echo down the corridor. She knows she cannot stay in King's Landing; they cut off her father's head and plan to use her as a hostage against Robb. Her stupidity had gotten her father killed, she would  _not_ let it claim her brother. With Arya missing, they would have no one to ransom or hold over his head.

She worried about leaving for a moment. What if her sister returned to the palace? No, Arya had never been as idiotic as her sister. She must know of their father's execution and, with Lannisters crawling everywhere, if she hasn't been found she's either escaped or dead. Sansa's prayers were never answered by the Seven, not once, so even though she was not before a weirwood, she sent a prayer to the Old Gods for it the be the former. House Stark was the blood of the first men; hopefully, they would answer. 

Trembling, she approached the door and waited for the guard to pass before quietly easing it open. Luckily they'd moved her from the Tower of the Hand, where she would have to go down countless stairs to escape. This was the serving quarters, the best exit from the Red Keep she could've asked for. Close to the Royal Kennels, and close the Flea Bottom. She kept the blanket pulled tight around her as she rushed from her rooms, no other soul in sight.

Running faster than she could ever remember moving, her shoes barely made a noise as she kept count in her head. She ducked into a corridor right as she reached forty-five and hid in the shadows as a guard passed. When he was out of sight she ducked out, rushing for the servant's entrance of the castle.

"Little Bird."

She froze, turning to see no one but the Hound standing before her.

"I-I just wanted some air, I felt faintish and clautrophobic...I'll return to-" Sansa ducked her head and prepared to go scurrying back to bed, tail between her legs, but the Hound gripped her shoulder tightly. She flinched at the pressing of her bruises but his grip did not fall away.

"Run."

She blinked, wide-eyed, "What?"

"Run while you still can." The Hound sneered, "The world's full of monsters, but if you stay here you'll die."

"I'm a hostage."

"For now, until the King gets tired of his broken toy. Fly away, little bird. Now." He shoved her away toward Flea Bottom.

She didn't give him a chance to change his mind. She turned and practically flew down the hallway just as instructed, sprinting to the stairs of the kennel. The servants were gone, as was the Kennel Master, and she eased the gate open and slipped inside. The dogs, used to strangers, didn't pay her any mind.

She found Lady chained to the wall in the very back, not even caged. She had fresh blood in the fur around her neck and teeth, and tears filled Sansa's eyes. She'd tried to escape, to come and save her family. Kneeling down, not minding the muck but wrinkling her nose at the scent and sight of dog feces, she pulled at the iron collar around the direwolf's neck. Lady whimpered and licked her on the cheek, so tall she reached Sansa's waist on four legs by now. 

"No key." She muttered, looking around.

The Kennel Master's ax was in the corner, used for butchering the old and useless dogs. It was heavy when she tried to pick it up, still stained with old blood and Gods know what else. She raised it, small arms trembling, and brought it feebly down on the chain in a place she wouldn't accidentally hit Lady. The direwolf sat obediently, yellow eyes nearly glowing as they watched her closely.

She grunted, the blanket falling from her shoulders as she brought the ax down again and again. Sweat dripped from her forehead and after what felt like a hundred hits, the chain gave way under the sharpened blade. Sansa collapsed to her knees, Lady leaping into her arms and smother her in wet kisses. She felt like crying, pressing her face into the dirty and matted grey fur. 

"What the  _fuck_ is going on down here?" 

Heavy footsteps came down the stairs, but by the time Sansa had stood, one of the gold cloaks was before her, glaring. The City Watch. 

"Hey, you're the Stark bitch!" He reached forward as she tried to dart away, grabbing her by the hair delicately styled on top of her head, pulling her down.

She cried out, trying to push him off, but she didn't stand a chance. She was weak and already exhausted from the ax, there was no chance to escape and no way she could fight back with her arms aching the way they did.

"I'll probably get a hefty reward for you." He smirked, "On your feet now."

He jerked her up and she had no choice but to follow. He reached for his sword, moving to hold it against her neck as he took her back to the Red Keep, but Lady moved faster. One moment she was growling dangerously, the next she had her jaws locked around the man's wrist. He released Sansa and she fell against the wall as Lady tore the hand clean off. He screamed, loudly, but she cut it show by going for his throat. A torn out mess of blood was all the remained when she was through. The direwolf turned to Sansa, snout covered in congealing blood.

Sansa sobbed, reaching to put her arms around her direwolf, "My girl, my good girl."

She stood again, hair now a mess and fallen around her shoulders. The intricate plates had already been damaged by her faint and Ser Meryn's earlier treatment, but now they were demolished. She picked up her dirty blanket and righted her torn dress, walking up the stairs slowly. She glanced around the streets, Lady close behind her. There was no one. She headed on into Flea Bottom from there, knowing her best bet was the Iron Gate that led out to Rosby Road. There were City Watch barracks near the other gates in the city, in the more prosperous areas, so they were out of the question. If she fled to Rosby Road, she could go around the town of Rosby and head northwest past Buckwell. 

She visualized the map her Septa had used in their lessons. If she could make it past Buckwell, she'd reach Harrenhall where her great-grandaunt, Shella Whent, resided. House Whent was a sworn vassal of House Tully; Lady Shella could have her escorted to her grandfather Lord Hoster Tully and granduncle Lord Brynden Tully. They would see her safe until her mother and Robb could come and retrieve her. 

She winded through the roads of Flea Bottom, avoiding the taverns and whore houses on her way to the Iron Gate. Rosby Road was much smaller than the King's Road, so the Iron Gate was left unguarded at night, unlike the Lion Gate. She slid right through, most of the people out this late that weren't guards were far too drunk to even notice her. Lady followed silently, both of them trying to get as much ground between them and the Lannisters as possible. It wasn't like she was inconspicuous; a redheaded girl with a direwolf was fairly noticeable and she was certain there'd be a bounty on her head. She'd have to stay out of the larger towns, for now, and just pass outside of them to make it to Harrenhall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lady is alive, and Sansa is trying desperately to keep the both of them that way. Hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Obviously, my Sansa is going to be a bit more...risk-taking than canon Sansa.


	3. Robb II & Jon I

**ROBB II**

He wasn't thinking straight, this much he knew. All he could feel was grief pulsing through his body, a bone-deep sorrow that left him exhausted yet unable rest. He had fled from everyone; his bannerman, Theon, his squire, they'd all watched him storm off with uncertainty. That was an hour ago when he had gone straight to his own quarters. He had cried very much. Only alone in the seclusion of his tent he had he allowed himself to break down, letting all his grief go and he shoved his own fist in front of his mouth to muffle his cries. Hiccuping sobs left his eyes red and watery, his face flushed and ruddy as his cries came to a halt, and that's when he found his anger. When the sorrow subsided long enough for the first thought to enter his head, it was one of a cold fury. 

He clenched his sword, in the forest beyond their encampment, anger fueling his motions as he struck at the nearest tree. Bark splintered everywhere, a deep cut left behind. Looking at it fueled him, imagining Joffrey Baratheon's smug face instead of a simple hunk of wood, lashing out with hit after hit. He heard soft footsteps behind him.

"Robb."

His mother's voice. He didn't stop, he couldn't stop.

"Robb!"

He looked up, tears pooling in his eyes once more, and looked at her face which was as flushed and aggrieved as his own. 

"You've ruined your sword." Catelyn held her hands out to him, and he dropped the offending piece of weaponry in favor of turning to his mother for comfort. 

She held him immediately, wrapping one arm around his shoulder and the other cradling his head, just as she'd done when he had nightmares as a child. Wasn't this the same, he thought briefly, wasn't this a nightmare? His father, his Lord father, Eddard Stark, was dead. He and Jon had always idolized the man; he was known as honorable and just, strong in battle but tempered with his morals. Robb had always wanted to be just like him, grow up and be as honorable and just and strong and moral and...now he realized the truth. Eddard Stark was all of those things and more, but still, it hadn't saved him. His father was a great man, but if Robb wanted to survive he simply had to be greater. Smarter. Play their game without compromising who he was.

He shook in his mother's arms. He had always wanted to grow and be the Lord of Winterfell; he just never quite realized that that lordship came at the price of his father's life.

"I'll kill them all." He spoke into her shoulder as she hushed him, "Every one of them. I'm...I'll kill them all..."

"My boy..." His mother's voice cracked, "They have your sisters. We have to get the girls back...and then we will kill them all. Every one of them."

* * *

His mother had left him to his business when they returned to camp, the northerners around them buzzing with unasked questions and rage with no outlet. Not yet, at least. Robb would give them an outlet, that much he knew. Joffrey thought he could get away with murdering his father, holding his sisters captive, using his family as a toy to torture. He was in for an awakening. Robb would not rest until his sisters were safe; his mother was right, they had to get Sansa and Arya back before they did anything else. Then, and only then, he would destroy the Lannisters. He would tear down every brick of the Red Keep to do it, too. He felt it in his very bones, in the icy anger that stirred his heart. 

He sat quietly, staring down at the page below him. He wondered if he wrote to Jon, would his brother come? Or had he already taken his vows? Would he come regardless if Robb asked him to? Sitting for a moment, Robb wondered if he could pardon breaking vows of the Night's Watch. He would do it, of course. It was Jon, he would do anything he possibly could for Jon. He rubbed his temples, feeling a headache come on as he debated with himself internally. If Jon had taken his vows, it went against all honor to dissolve them. Still, he knew it didn't matter. His siblings transcended all honor and dignity, and his family mattered more than ever now.

It was silent for a long while. The sun had set, he could tell through the sliver of light that faded from the entrance of his tent.

Theon was the first one to come to him.

He entered quietly, ducking through the flap of the tent and looking far more serious than the Greyjoy has ever. Robb gave him a weak smile as Theon came to sit beside him, pulling a chair over to the desk. They were quiet for a long moment before his friend reached an arm out and drug Robb in by the shoulders for a hug. It was in an odd position, but he appreciated it nonetheless. 

"Lord Stark was a good man. A kind one." Theon's words were quiet, "I'm sorry."

Robb pulled away and looked his friend straight in the eye, "You're allowed to grieve too you know."

"I...He wasn't..." The Greyjoy faltered for a moment, "When my father gave me up after the rebellion that got all my brothers killed, I was furious. I thought you were all...the enemy. Then you weren't, and I felt like a traitor. Because, in truth, your father was the only one that's ever actually _been_ a father to me. You're the only family I've known."

Theon didn't cry, it just wasn't something he did. Robb only ever remembered him crying when they were children and he'd wake, screaming for Rodrik or Maron. He wasn't emotional like that, while he was a skirt chaser and cocky as all fuck, he didn't cry as easily as Robb. Still, looking at him now, Theon had dampness he was holding back in his eyes.

Robb pursed his lips, "You're a Stark in everything but name. My father raised you. He...I know he was proud of you."

"Yeah. He always used to smile and clap me on the shoulder when I'd clean up in the archery contests between me, you, and Jon." Theon chuckled quietly, "I always used to imagine he was my father. That I was family."

"You are." Robb spoke firmly, "I don't care what anyone says about blood. Just like Jon is my brother, not my bastard brother, you are too. Blood or not, you are family."

Theon smiled softly for a second before his face fell back into his usual cocky smirk, "Well, this was lovely, but supper is soon. Wouldn't do for you to starve."

"Of course not." Robb rolled his eyes, accepting the change of subject.

Some things, no matter what, would never change. He had come to accept that one of them was Theon's emotional constipation.

* * *

"The proper course is clear." Jonos Bracken spoke, "Pledge fealty to King Renly and move south to join our forces with his."

Robb sipped his mug, the ale bitter as he swallowed, "Renly is not king."

Bracken stopped pacing, face a mask of surprise, "You cannot mean to hold to Joffrey, my lord! He put your father to death!"

Frowning, he caught Theon's eye and saw the annoyance on the Greyjoy's face. They all knew quite well what happened to Eddard Stark, he thought angrily, but thank you for announcing it. 

"That doesn't make Renly king." Robb explained patiently, biting his tongue for the sake of propriety, "He's Robert's youngest brother. If Bran can't be Lord of Winterfell before me, Renly can't be king before Stannis."

The man's eyebrows rose, "So you mean to declare us for  _Stannis_?"

"As he should!" Galbart Glover interrupted heatedly, "Renly is just not right! If we put ourselves behind Stannis-!"

"My Lords...My Lords!" Greatjon Umber spoke, the rest of those seated around the dining area growing quiet, "Here is what  _I_ say to these two kings."

He spat on the ground by Glover's feet, getting him a displeased look from the man.

"Renly Baratheon is nothing to me, nor Stannis neither." Umber continued, "Why should they rule over me and mine from some flowery seat in the South? What do they know of the Wall or the Wolfswood? Even their gods are wrong!"

A chuckle rippled through the camp and, even in his sour mood, Robb had to crack a smile.

"Why shouldn't we rule ourselves again? lt was the dragons we bowed to and now the dragons are dead!" Umber announced, all chucking dying out following his proclamation. 

All eyes began to turn to Robb, who sat up straighter in response. He stole a glance at his mother, her worried eyes looking back at him.

" _There_ sits the only king l mean to bend my knee to!" Greatjon unsheathed his sword, the sound loud in the dead silence around it, "The King in the North!"

Everything was still as Greatjon Umber got on a knee, offering his sword to Robb as he bowed. Robb could feel his heart rate kicking up as none other than Rickard Karstark stood, drawing his sword as well. 

"I'll have peace on those terms. They can keep their Red Castle and their iron chair too." Karstark announced, bowing the same as Greatjon, "The King in the North!"

He knew his eyes were wide, Grey Wind stirring at his feet in response to the adrenaline that rushed through his veins. He looked up, catching Theon's eye as his friend stood.

"Am I your brother, now and always?" Theon spoke quietly, barely above a whisper, but it sounded loud as it echoed in Robb's ears.

"Now and always." Robb responded, the words honest and true.

Theon knelt too, "My sword is yours in victory and defeat, from this day until my last day."

All the lords and his bannermen that surrounded him drew their swords, taking the knee. He saw Olyvar Frey, his new squire of barely a week, kneel as well with his sword drawn. The declaration echoed around the clearing and the camp, drawing the soldiers from their tents to join in the raucous celebration. 

"The King in the North! The King in the North!"

It was repeated over and over, hundreds of voices joining like a choir. Grey Wind stood, nearly as tall as a man, throwing her head back in a howl. It joined the harmony of sound, a haunting and powerful background at the start of a reign.

* * *

**JON I**

He threw the saddlebags over a horse he'd taken from the stables, the sword he'd come to Castle Black with now at his side once again. He'd left Longclaw behind, he couldn't take it knowing he was following through with deserting. He began to mount the horse when he heard the snow crunching behind him, knew who was coming. Sam entered his field of vision, looking both nervous and determined, holding out his arms to stop Jon from fleeing.

"You can't! You can't leave, Jon, you can't!"

"Get out of my way, Sam." Jon grunted, struggling at the reigns of the horse.

"They'll put out the word. They'll send out ravens. People will come after you. Do you know what happens to deserters?" Sam's eyes were wide with worry, "You'll die."

Jon spoke shortly, "I know what happens better than you do."

"Well...I..." Sam sputtered, "What are you going to do?"

His jaw involuntarily clenched, anger boiling underneath his skin, "I'm going to find my brother and put a sword through King Joffrey's throat."

"You can't leave us now. We need you here." Sam insisted, taking a step closer but still blocking the gate.

Jon only shook his head, "Move."

"I can't let you go." 

"Sam, move." Jon insisted, jerking the reigns once more to make the horse trot forward.

"No." Sam trembled slightly but still set his jaw, "I won't."

Jon didn't respond again, just kicked his heels into the horse's flanks and snapped the reigns, ordering it into a gallop. Sam fell to the ground as he tried to jump out of the way and, by the time he stood, Jon was heading out the gate and into the woods of the North at breakneck speed. Ghost was hot on his tail, running alongside him, and it wasn't long before Jon heard shouts and hooves not far behind him.

"Ghost!" He shouts a warning before he picks up the speed, only stopping when he hears a shout of Sam's name.

Turning, he sees Pyp and Grenn standing above Sam on the ground, the later having been knocked off his horse by a branch Jon had just ducked under. 

"Did we get him?" He heard Sam ask and he cursed under his breath.

Sighing, he set his horse to a trot back to the three, not dismounting as they helped Sam up.

"Lucky you've got a lot of padding." Pyp said, helping their friend get stable before they all turn to Jon, who just watched them silently. 

"We're taking you back to where you belong." Grenn demanded, Pyp and Sam both nodding in agreeance.

"I belong with my brother." Jon brushed their grievances aside, prepared to turn and run.

"But we're your brothers now." Sam said, taking a step towards him. 

Jon dismounts finally, approaching them in long strides, "I belong with  _Robb_."

"They'll kill you if they know you've gone." Grenn tosses it out as if Jon hadn't already known that.

"Yes, and they'll kill you if they know you came after me. Go back." Jon speaks firmly, the words cold, and prepares to turn away for good.

"Sam told us everything. We're sorry about your father." Pyp's words stop him, lighting a fire in his chest again. 

The anger burns underneath his skin, lighting him on fire as he thinks of his father's death. He remembers when he found out; he had wanted to burn the message the news was sent on, burn Joffrey, burn it all. The anger was consuming, but then he thought of Robb. Robb, Arya, Sansa, all of them away from home and safety. A cold kind of dread crept in then. His sisters were still in King's Landing, who's to say they weren't next? apparently Robb was waging war, as odd and incomprehensible as that was to him. He knew only one thing; his brother needed him, and so did his sisters.

"But it doesn't matter. You took the oath. You can't leave." Grenn continued.

Jon disagreed. It did matter. It was the  _only_ thing that mattered.

"I have to." He dismissed.

"You can't." Grenn shook his head, "You said the words."

"I don't care about-!" Jon began to snap.

"Hear my words and bear witness to my vow." Sam began to recite.

"To hell with all of you." Jon grunted.

"Night gathers and now my watch begins. lt shall not end until my death. l shall live and die at my post." Pyp continued the vow as all three of them began to surround him.

"l am the sword in the darkness." Grenn picked up where Pyp left off.

"The watcher on the walls," Pyp and Sam joined Grenn, all of them speaking at once, "The shield that guards the realms of men. l pledge my life and honor to the Night's Watch, for this night and all nights to come."

Sam picked up Longclaw from where it had tumbled from his horse when he fell, offering it to Jon.

He looked at the sword long and hard, goosebumps rising on his arms despite the layers of fur. He had always wanted to join the Night's Watch. It was a place he wasn't just a bastard, where they were all equal despite where they came from. It was where he was meant to be.

Wasn't it?

For a moment, he went to grab the sword. Like an invisible force pushing him, guiding him. Then the illusion shattered and reality came flooding back in. Arya and Sansa could  _die_. Robb could  _die_. Bran and Rickon would be vulnerable in Winterfell if Robb fell, no one there to protect them. He had a place he belonged, and it was with his family. His brother.

"I can't." He saw their faces fall, smiles gone in an instant, "I know this means I'm deserting. I know they'll come after me. I don't care. My brothers and sisters could be dying right now, and I'm here, unable to help them. I belong with Robb."

Sam took a step forward, a hand reached out, " _Please_ , Jon."

"I can't." The bastard repeated, mounting his horse once more. He looked down at Ghost, the red eyes staring straight into his soul. He saw approval there in the depths beyond.

He kicked his horse into a gallop once more. This time, they didn't follow.

Jon rode long and hard well into the night, putting as much distance between himself and Castle Black as possible. He needed to make it to Robb before anyone caught him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realized Robb & Marg's ship name is Robbaery, which sounds like robbery. It's fitting.
> 
> Also, Jon officially left the Night's Watch. It doesn't really matter since...well, you'll see. He might not be with Robb as soon as he thinks he will be.


End file.
